


A Penny For Your Thoughts

by dear_monday



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU: Killjoys, Barebacking, Community: bandom_meme, M/M, Marking, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're shitting me, right?" he says, looking Poison up and down disbelievingly. "You're <em>not</em>. You narcissistic fuck."</p>
<p>Poison shrugs. "Hey. Suit yourself, motorbaby. You're not the only hooker out here tonight, you know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Penny For Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at [](http://bandom-meme.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**bandom_meme**](http://bandom-meme.dreamwidth.org/). **Warnings for barebacking, semi-public sex, marking, hints of painplay, mentions of drug addiction, and obviously prostitution.**

"You're shitting me, right?" he says, looking Poison up and down disbelievingly. "You're _not_. You narcissistic fuck."  
  
Poison shrugs. "Hey. Suit yourself, motorbaby. You're not the only hooker out here tonight, you know." He turns to leave, but a pale hand darts out and catches his arm.  
  
"Wait," the boy blurts, too quick. Up close, Poison can see his pupils are blown wide and his skin is too white to be healthy, shocking against his dark, tangled hair. Strung-out, but not for much longer. Junk punk, then. That at least explains why the biting chill of the desert night doesn't seem to be bothering him. Poison doesn't know what the kid's on and, honestly, he doesn't really give a fuck. He smiles, slow and nasty like molasses and motor oil. He would have gone looking for someone else if he'd had to, but – his own face. He's heard whispers about doppelgangers appearing in the zones, but he hadn't believed them until now. It was just too hard to resist. The kid's right, Poison _is_ a narcissistic fuck and he doesn't deny it.  
  
"Oh?" Poison raises an eyebrow. "C'mon, motorbaby. Persuade me. You got a name?"  
  
"Gee. Call me Gee." The boy presses up close to Poison, fever-warm. "I'm good, I swear. Best you're gonna find this far into the zones. Please, fuck. I'll make it good for you, I promise, come on." He's talking fast, needy and obviously too many credits away from his next fix to be able to afford to let Poison go.  
  
"Mm. Okay." Poison glances away, feigning disinterest. "How much?"  
  
Gee's eyes light up. "Thirty Cs for a handjob, sixty-five for a blow."  
  
"How much for a fuck?"  
  
"One twenty-five," says Gee, instantly. "Why? You got somewhere to take me?"  
  
"I've got a car." Poison is already walking away, gesturing over his shoulder for Gee to follow him. "Pricey. You better be as good as you say you are, sugar."  
  


~

  


Poison backs Gee up against the hood of the Trans Am, and when it hits the backs of his knees he stumbles backwards and winds up with his thighs splayed wide to keep his balance. He looks twitchy as Poison moves closer, getting between Gee's legs and slipping a hand under the ragged hem of Gee's thin shirt. He pushes it up, exposing soft, bright white skin. He wants to bite and suck and dig his fingers in, leave strings of marks in angry reds and blues and purples. He leans in, mouths at Gee's pale throat and feels Gee shiver.  
  
"It's another twenty Cs if you wanna mark me up," he murmurs, tipping his head back and baring his neck to Poison.  
  
"Fine," Poison agrees, not really listening. Another twenty Cs seems like a small price to pay for the chance to scatter that fragile skin with glowing bruises. "No more talking. C'mon, get up." He steps back. Gee sits there on the hood of the car for a moment, looking disorientated. His hair is falling forward over his face, there's a pretty flush blooming in his cheeks despite the cold and his legs are still spread invitingly. He looks fucking _edible_. That image alone is nearly worth the money, just for the amount of use Poison knows he's going to be getting out of it over the next few cycles.  
  
Gee slides down to stand in front of Poison. The unfocussed look is gone, painted over with a glossy, beguiling smile. Gee looks young like Poison always has, but he's obviously been in this game a while. "So? Where are you taking me?"  
  
" _Taking_ you?" Poison grins and Gee twitches slightly. "I'm not taking you anywhere. Bend over, sugar."  
  
" _Here?_ You're fucking crazy, you asshole, we're _outside_ \--"  
  
"Yeah, and it's the middle of the fucking night, there's no one around and we're an hour and a half from the nearest main road. What are you, nervous?"  
  
"Fuck you." Gee's teeth are gritted, but he turns away from Poison anyway, bending down and pressing his chest down against the pitted metal of the hood. Poison kicks his feet wider apart while Gee works at the zipper on his own jeans.  
  
"Good," Poison says, as Gee starts working them as far down his thighs as he can. Gee's not wearing underwear and he's pale and soft-looking everywhere, unblemished in a way that Poison wants to touch, to break. Another day, he's going ask how much it would cost him to hit Gee, mark him up for real. Poison wants Gee broken and used and helpless for him, all the joy of self-destruction with none of the consequences. The curve of Gee's ass looks almost too good to be true, and it's an even better ego trip than Poison was expecting. He reaches out, just trailing his fingertips over the base of Gee's spine and down, down, down, watching goosebumps appear in the wake of the touch. Gee's fucking perfect. Poison just wants to take this one home with him.  
  
Gee fidgets restlessly. "You gonna give me your fingers, fucker? I'm gonna need them if you're as big as me."  
  
"Who's a narcissistic fuck now? Shit, I should've gagged you," mutters Poison, digging in his pockets for lube. Gee makes a low noise that sounds like it was startled out of him, and Poison chuckles. "Don't worry. Some other time, motorbaby."  
  
There'll have to be other times. He doesn't have the cash on him for all the things he wants to do to Gee right now. He finally finds what he was looking for, and digs the little sachet out of the pocket of his jeans and goes for his own zipper, taking the chance to _look_ while he does. He's paying, after all, he doesn't see why he should feel bad. He finally manages to get his own sweat-stiff jeans halfway down his thighs, revelling in how _good_ it feels when he gets his hand around his cock and gives himself a couple of quick, rough jerks. That's all he lets himself have for now; it's more than enough. He tears the sachet of black market lube open, squeezes a little less than enough out onto his fingers. He's curious. Gee might have his face and a softer, fleshier version of his body, but Poison's more interested in the spots that'll make him scream, whether those will match too. Gee's the shiniest new toy Poison's had to play with in a long time.  
  
Poison isn't gentle, sliding one finger in quickly and making Gee whine, high and thin and needy. He pushes back against Poison's hand and lets out a shocked, wordless noise when Poison crooks his finger like he sometimes does to make himself see stars.  
  
"Mother _fuck_ ," hisses Gee. "How did you--"  
  
"Maybe you're just more like me than you thought, motorbaby." Poison twists his finger again and slips a second one in. He hasn't been generous with the lube and he knows the burn's got to hurt, but Gee exhales a soft _yeah_ that sounds - unwilling, like he's ashamed, but there's an unspoken _don't stop_ in there too. Poison smiles a little wider; this is fucking perfect.  
  
"You _want_ it to hurt?" he breathes, leaning down, and Gee shivers when Poison's mouth ghosts over the back of his neck. "Shit. The things I wanna do to you."  
  
"Break it and you're paying for it, fucker. No blood," Gee warns, but his voice cracks and he rocks backwards, bearing down on Poison's hand when Poison gives him a third finger. "Aw, _fuck_ , c'mon..."  
  
That's really all the encouragement Poison needs. He slides his fingers out, and Gee hisses at the sudden loss. Poison empties the rest of the lube into his hand, drops the empty sachet in the sand and slicks himself up, anticipation humming under his skin. Gee waits, spread wide open and bent over the hood of the car, and Poison wants this, all of him, everything. He settles his hands on Gee's hips and lines himself up, then makes himself stop to breathe. The best thing about the way Gee's ass feels pressed up against his cock is the twitchy, thrumming knowledge that it's going to get _so much better_.  
  
He pushes in quickly, sinking in until he bottoms out. He doesn't give Gee time to get used to the stretch, and Gee arches up off the hood of the car with a broken, wanting noise. "You gonna make me hold you down?" Poison grits out, uncurling one hand from Gee's pale, fleshy hip and pushing down between his shoulders instead, pinning him down while he hisses and squirms. He starts to move, setting a rough, unforgiving pace that's artless and really, really fucking good.  
  
He works a hand into Gee's dark, greasy hair and pulls his head up, giving himself better access to Gee's throat. He bites down on the meaty curve where Gee's neck meets his shoulder, and Gee whimpers. "Not _fair_ ," he gasps. "Not fair, motherfucker."  
  
Poison disagrees. He just knows how to push his own buttons, what else is he supposed to do with the knowledge that Gee has the same controls? Gee's making such pretty noises under Poison, and every choked moan is going straight to Poison's dick. It's still not quite enough, somehow, like Gee's reluctant to make any more noise, and Poison pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in hard and fast.  
  
"C'mon, you're holding out on me," he says. "Wanna hear you."  
  
He _knows_ Gee's got more to give. Poison's usually pretty loud himself; he feels cheated out of all the little noises he knows Gee can make. Gee answers him with a bitten-off curse and then a low, full-throated moan that Poison's heard a thousand times from his own mouth when he's fucking or jacking off or getting blown, and he echoes it involuntarily. _Fuck_. This is good, so much better than it should be, just wrong enough to twist his stomach in the most delicious way. Gee feels obscenely good around him, hot and overwhelming against the cool night air, and Poison's hips stutter forwards and then he's finished, coming hard inside Gee with a shout. He pulls out slowly, and Gee makes a filthy, familiar noise.  
  
"If you got a problem with jizz on the paintwork," he says, between harsh, dragging breaths, "I suggest you say something right the fuck now."  
  
He's still bent over the hood of the car, but now he's propped up on one elbow, jacking himself furiously with his other hand, his legs still spread and Poison's come sliding down his thighs.  
  
"No," says Poison, as soon as he remembers how to use words again. He sounds wrecked, and something zings down his spine and pools in the pit of his stomach. Ten years ago, he would have been halfway to hard again by now. "Fuck, no. C'mon, wanna see you come for me."  
  
That's all it takes, and Gee goes still and slack-mouthed as he comes all over the spider spray-painted onto the hood. Poison watches, and drinks him in.  
  
He knows he'll be back, but he'll need something to keep him going until then.


End file.
